


it takes someone to come around (to show you how)

by maurascalla



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bisexuality, Disregard of Canon Timelines, F/F, F/M, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Misogyny, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 17:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5793028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maurascalla/pseuds/maurascalla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You aren't missing much,” says one of her co-workers, a woman who's married but not to her soulmate. He left years ago, after their third child, saying he couldn't take it anymore. She's bitter, and it colors her tone and her manner. “It's just the same shit, Fiona. Same shit, different vision.”</i>
</p><p>or, a Fiona/V color vision soulmate au</p>
            </blockquote>





	it takes someone to come around (to show you how)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voicesofreasons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voicesofreasons/gifts).



> for voicesofreason, who asked for a veronica/fiona soulmate au.

Fiona's world is a gray scale of black and white. Everything is different shades of the same color, again and again, making her existence seem dull and low contrast in a way that it just isn't for people who've found their soulmates. She doesn't actually know that many people who can see in color, just her parents and a couple of the older women she knows from working at the motel. She asks them what color the sheets are (green and white) and what color the cleaners are hanging from their nozzles on her cart (blue, yellow, blue again), but the answers don't mean anything to her. All she sees is gray, darker gray, gray, and gray again. It's exhausting, an endless sea of always the same. 

“You aren't missing much,” says one of her co-workers, a woman who's married but not to her soulmate. He left years ago, after their third child, saying he couldn't take it anymore. She's bitter, and it colors her tone and her manner. “It's just the same shit, Fiona. Same shit, different vision.”

*

“It's like putting on glasses for the first time,” her mother tells her. “Meeting your father was like that.” She's manic, cutting up strips of newspaper for some project of Debbie's, and Fiona hadn't asked her, but she felt like saying it anyway. Monica gets sentimental when she's on an up swing, and Fiona's learned to ignore it, mostly. There's a pile of paper strips taller than Carl on the floor at Monica's feet. 

“I don't wear glasses,” Fiona says curtly. No one's made dinner or washed the dishes or stopped Monica from destroying the kitchen and she's irritated. She doesn't feel bad about taking it out on her mother, who doesn't seem to notice anyway. She's still sheering the newspaper like it's offended her. 

“You'll see,” Monica responds, distracted. She waves a hand in Fiona's direction, dismissing the conversation. 

“Not likely,” Fiona mutters, pulling her hair up into a messy bun. She sets her shoulders and begins to chip away at the disaster that is their kitchen, picking up trash and washing plates and bowls. When the counters have been cleared off, she makes dinner. 

Macaroni simmers in a pot of boiling water when Monica looks up, confused, and asks, “What time is it?”

“It's almost eight,” Fiona replies. She's digging around in the cabinets under the sink for the colander. She makes a triumphant noise when she finds it, popping up from her crouch. She looks over at her mother, whose face is such a storm of uncertainty and embarrassment that it breaks Fiona's heart. 

“I guess I lost track of time,” Monica says, her voice small. She sets her scissors down and pushes stray pieces of paper off her lap.

“It's okay, Mom,” Fiona says, even though it's not. 

Monica smiles brightly, in the way that makes it obvious that she's still stunning and beautiful and knows it. She leaps out of her chair, brushing the tower of clipped newspaper with her legs. It sways a little, but stays standing. “Let me finish that up for you, baby?” She suggests, pulling the colander out of Fiona's grasp. “Go sit down! How was work today?”

They chat while Monica drains the pasta and mixes the cheese sauce. Well, Monica chatters away and Fiona moves all of her paper strips from the floor to a clean trash bag for she and Debbie to deal with later. 

Fiona is calling the kids down for dinner, shouting up the stairs at top volume, when Frank stumbles in the back door. He slinks over to the table and slams down into one of the chairs, his whole body sagging in relief like silly putty left to its own devices. He groans pitifully, but Fiona ignores him. Instead, she grabs the plates she'd washed and plastic forks she'd stolen from her job at a convenience store down the street, and sets the table. 

Like a herd of elephants, her brothers and sister clobber down the stairs, Liam held safely in Debbie's arms so he wouldn't get trampled. 

“Hey, little man!” Fiona says, high and cheerful, taking Liam from her sister. She runs a finger down his nose and taps it to make him smile toothlessly. “How was your day?!”

“Isn't anyone going to ask me how my day was?” Frank complains. 

“No,” Lip and Ian say at the same time, bored and reaching for the bowl of pasta their mother set on the table by the stack of plastic silverware. Fiona rolls her eyes at Frank's responding outrage, ignoring him and the boys in favor of securing Liam into his highchair. 

“Ugh, this shit is neon yellow, Monnie! You trying to poison our children, our own flesh and blood?” Frank yells, inspecting the macaroni on his fork closely. 

“It looks fine to me,” Debbie chirps, and Fiona nods in agreement. 

“What would you know,” Frank grumbles. “You can't see shit.” 

*

“New neighbors!” Carl says when he and Debbie get home from school one day, shortly after Monica abandons them. Fiona's in the living room, folding some clean laundry and looking for another job on Craigslist using the family's ancient laptop. 

“Don't bother them!” She orders without looking up from her laundry. She can hear Debbie and Carl groan in unison before stomping up the stairs, exasperated. 

“You never let us have any fun!” Carl grouses. 

*

“The new neighbor is hot,” Lip says that night at dinner, chewing with his mouth open. 

Ian shoves his shoulder goodnaturedly. “She lives with her boyfriend, dumbass!”

“They aren't soulmates,” Lip condescends, smirk on his face. “I have a chance.”

The boys jostle each other, playfully fighting at the table, until they nearly knock over a bowl full of fish sticks. “Okay, cut it out,” Fiona says with a stern look at her brothers.

“Sorry, Fi,” Ian says. He looks apologetic, but Fiona can see him kicking Lip under the table. She sighs and rolls her eyes. 

“How do you know they aren't soulmates?” Debbie interrupts, ever inquisitive. She looks at Lip expectantly. 

Lip shrugs, moving his body out of Ian's line of fire. “They were arguing about it,” he says. 

“Leave the new neighbors alone,” Fiona warns them all. “And eat your dinner.” 

*

It's a few days before Fiona gets a chance to see the new inhabitants of the house two doors down, but when she does, she stops dead in her tracks, groceries falling to the pavement in front of their gate. 

Sitting on their tiny front lawn, basking in the sun, are a tall white man and a leggy black woman. The first thing Fiona notices about the woman, stretched out languidly over her boyfriend, is the brown color of her eyes. 

Brown. 

“Holy shit,” the woman says, swinging her legs off the man and standing abruptly. Her tight purple dress falls a little further down her thighs. 

Purple.

“Fuck,” Fiona breathes. She tears her eyes away from the woman long enough to check out the colors blue in the sky (like Windex) and the green in the grass (like the motel sheets). Her eyes don't linger there, and before long, she's focused on the woman -her soulmate- again. 

“Babe,” the man says. He's touching his hand to her shoulder and Fiona looks up and up and up, sees the red of his shirt and the blue of his eyes. 

“Kev, I think this bitch is my soulmate,” the woman replies, looking from Fiona to Kev and back again. 

There's a silence that stretches and stretches, building tension between them. Fiona can't look away, can't make her voice work, can hardly breathe. Part of her, the dark and mean parts that keep her up when she's trying to sleep, thought this would never happen, kept her from picturing the reality of it. So many people never see color, and Fiona truly thought she'd be one of them. Instead, here she is, decked out in a horribly clashing red shirt/pink shorts combo that makes her wonder what else she's worn that makes her look like a closet threw up on her. She wonders if she'll have to put up with other people's terrible outfits for the rest of her life, and resigns herself to the truth of it. 

It's easier than thinking about the woman who is her soulmate, who lives two doors down with her boyfriend, who is a woman. The silence is deafening. 

“No shit,” Kev, the boyfriend, says. His voice is mild and he surprises Fiona with his good humor. He moves his hand from the woman's shoulder and holds it out for Fiona to shake, and she does, cautiously. “I'm Kev, and this is V.”

“Veronica,” the woman corrects, holding out her hand for Fiona to take when she's dropped Kev's. Her skin is dry and warm and smooth. Fiona flushes, the tips of her ears thankfully hidden in her mane of curly, unflattened hair. 

“I'm Fiona,” she says. “I live a couple houses down.”

“Oh, is that Lip kid yours?” Kev asks, “He keeps offering to do our taxes.”

Fiona smiles, “Nah, he's my brother. And you should let him. He's a smart kid.” 

Kev smiles back, and Fiona's charmed by his boyish grin and his broad shoulders. “We'll definitely think about it,” he says. “I'm not so good with numbers.”

“Well it was nice to meet you,” Veronica bites out, irritated. She steps back, hand caught in Kev's shirt, dragging him with her. “But we have a thing.”

“We don't have a thing,” Kev starts, but stops when he sees the thunderous expression on Veronica's face. “See you,” he says to Fiona, giving her a weary little wave. 

Fiona stares after them, watching them climb up the stairs and into their house. She crouches down and picks up her fallen groceries, taking her time, looking at the colorful designs on cans of vegetables and touching the red lines of Lip's cigarette packs. The whole world is different now. 

*

Everything is the same. 

Fiona goes to work, she cleans house, she organizes her family, avoids Frank, and pays her bills. Nothing changes in any kind of significant way, except that her dull, gray scale universe is suddenly drenched in bright, vibrant color. 

She doesn't tell anyone. She doesn't know what to say. 

She learns that blue is her favorite color, and that she likes the way the green summer leaves turn red, yellow, orange in the fall. She wants to talk to Veronica, who she sees sometimes, out and about, but she doesn't. She doesn't know what to say. 

*

“Purple is a good color on you,” is the first thing Fiona says to Veronica after their first disastrous meet and greet. 

She's sitting at the bar in the Alibi, talking to the bartender about Frank, when Veronica walks in, confident as anything and wearing a different purple dress. This one is longer, slightly, and lower cut at the neck. It's dark and brings out the gold in the brown of her irises. 

Veronica narrows her eyes and slides onto the stool beside Fiona, the lines of her body tense. 

“What do you want form me?” She asks, cutting right to brass tax. Fiona likes this about her, likes her no-nonsense attitude. Liked it when they met too, even if Veronica had classified her as 'nonsense.' 

Fiona shrugs, because she doesn't really know. “You don't want to know me at all?”

Veronica looks around the bar, sees how empty it is, takes note of how the bartender has her back turned, and says, “I don't like change.”

“Me either,” Fiona sighs. 

“Maybe,” Veronica smiles a little ruefully, like she's already regretting what she saying before she says it. “You could come over for coffee, before my class tomorrow.” Fiona knows an olive branch when she sees one, and hastily accepts. Veronica nods, and slides off her stool gracefully. 

“Just coffee though,” Fiona says before she can chicken out. “Just talking.” Because Fiona is many things, but self reflective isn't necessarily one of them and there are somethings she's never been comfortable examining about herself. She isn't ready, doesn't even want to think about it, about the fact that Veronica is a woman, that Fiona herself is a woman, and what that might mean. 

“Coffee,” Veronica confirms. She doesn't say goodbye, just walks out the same way she walked in: hips in full swing, long legs straight and sure of where they're going. Fiona stares after her and doesn't look away until the bartender comes back down to Fiona's end of the bar. 

“You gunna order something, honey? I already told you your dad's not here.” The bartender tosses a rag over her shoulder and crosses her arms over her chest. Fiona's known her most of her life, in and out of the Alibi weekly trying to find Frank or Monica or both. She knows Fiona's only 19, nearly 20, but still 19, and that she aught not be drinking in public. Fiona wonders just how pathetic she looks that this woman would risk the fine and criminal charges to give her a drink. 

“Can I get a beer?” Fiona decides that yeah, a drink would actually be nice. 

The bartender reaches under the counter and pulls out a Coors and a cigarette. She hands them both to Fiona with a sympathetic twist of her mouth. “Looks like you could use one,” she says, throwing a pack of matches on the bar next to the beer. 

Fiona thanks her and strikes a match, lighting her cigarette. She drinks her beer and smokes until they're both gone. She leaves a couple dollars on the bar, under her empty beer bottle, and climbs off her bar stool. 

“Good luck tomorrow,” the bartender calls out as Fiona nears the door. When she turns, the woman is smiling at her encouragingly, and Fiona thinks that maybe the mean spirited things Frank used to say about her being a lesbian might be true, and not just bruised ego from being turned down again and again. Fiona tries to smile back, but it's weak. She leaves quickly after that, hugging her coat closer to her body, even though it's barely chilly, just the beginning of fall in the air. 

*

At home, Fiona works on dinner and cleans up the living room and thinks about Veronica. Wonders if she had a reason for coming to the Alibi, or if she was there to see Fiona specifically. The thought makes her stomach hurt and her cheeks burn. 

Fiona isn't a stranger to sex, has had a few partners, a number of them, if she's being honest with herself, but they've all been men. Men with big hands and hard chests and they all smelled like Axe or Old Spice or sweat. She thinks about girls, sometimes, when she's taking care of her needs on her own, but she doesn't allow herself to linger on the “whys” of it all. She likes fucking men, and figures that all girls accidentally think about girls in those quiet moments alone. 

She doesn't want to know if she's wrong, doesn't want to be wrong, so she just. Puts it in the back of her mind and thinks about something else. It isn't as if she doesn't have other things to worry about, to think about at length. There are the bills, her jobs, dinners, and making sure her kids get to school in clean clothes. There's so much more, and she just. Doesn't even consider it. 

*

Fiona is up earlier than she'd like to be. She was too anxious to sleep, too nervous about her morning with Veronica to lock in more than four hours uninterrupted. She never got a solid time for their coffee meet-up, and Fiona wanted to be awake in case it was an early morning meeting instead of a late morning one. 

Ian raises an eyebrow at her when he ambles down the stairs for his morning run, surprised to see her sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in her hands, hair done and make up on. She doesn't say anything, and he doesn't comment, just steps out the back door and comes back in, sweaty and winded, near and hour later. 

“School,” Fiona reminds him, and he nods, taking the stairs two at a time. “Get Lip and Carl up for me?”

“Sure,” Ian says, easy. 

When she sees him again, Lip is a;ready sitting at the table, smoking a cigarette and staring into his coffee cup like it's insulted his intelligence. Ian's got Carl by the scruff of his neck, frog marching him down the stairs. He's freshly showered and the smell of Irish Spring rolls off him in waves. 

“Debbie's in the bathroom,” Carl says, delighted. “I won't have time to shower today!”

Fiona rolls her eyes. “When you get home from school, you will shower,” she says, leaving no room for argument, pointing at him, then at the ceiling, indicating the upstairs bathroom. Carl groans, but doesn't argue, which makes Fiona suspicious. She looks at Ian, telling him silently to make sure Carl does as he's told. Ian smirks and nods. 

“Coffee?” He asks, hopefully. Fiona gestures to the coffee pot on the counter and pushes the bowl of sugar at him with her elbow. 

“Help yourself,” she says. 

Once all her kids are fed and watered, she watches them walk down the street to the bus stop. Ian and Lip take the city bus to their high school, but Carl and Debbie are still young enough that they take a school bus. She sees Carl try and push Debbie out into traffic, and Ian catch her just as she's about to fall. She smiles, Liam resting on her hip, as her siblings grow smaller and smaller in the distance. 

“Just you and me now, kiddo,” she tells him. He grins up at her, a gummy baby smile that makes her heart melt every time. She wanders back into the kitchen from the front door and heats up a bottle, settling in to wait for Veronica. 

*

She doesn't have to wait for long. Half an hour after the kids leave, Veronica shows up at her front door and knocks twice in rapid succession. Fiona opens the door, Liam still on her hip, and smiles warily. “Hey,” she says. 

Veronica looks at Liam and purses her glossy lips. “That one yours,” she asks, but it sounds like she's stating an unpleasant fact. Fiona moves aside to let her in, but Veronica doesn't move, and it doesn't seem like she will. 

“Brother,” Fiona replies. Veronica nods and steps inside. 

“You have a lot of those,” she comments, looking around Fiona's living room in a way that lets Fiona know that she's being weighed and measured. 

“My parents aren't really around,” Fiona says, shifting Liam's weight in her arms. 

“And you take care of them.” Veronica finishes, her voice laced with approval. Fiona nods. 

They stand awkwardly in the Gallagher living room until Veronica turns on her heel abruptly, navigating her way back to the front door. “I put on a fresh pot,” she says. “Let's go.” 

Fiona grabs Liam's bottle and his diaper bag before following after the other woman. She rushes to catch up to Veronica, who's walking in impossibly tall boots. Today, she's wearing blue jeans and a purple top. Fiona remembers what she said at the bar and blushes. Luckily, she can blame it on the cool fall air, and not think too hard on why it feels good that Veronica dressed up for her. 

At Veronica's house, Fiona sees the empty driveway, and knows that Kev isn't home. It makes her nervous. She holds Liam tighter to her chest. She almost feels like she's walking in a funeral procession as she and Veronica ascend the stairs and make their way up to Veronica's front door. 

The inside of Veronica's house is flashy and homey, with leather furniture and dark colored animal prints everywhere. It's not Fiona's style, but it's put-together and is exactly the kind of home she'd expected from Veronica, who seems to be all loud energy and fuck-off attitude. 

“I don't have any milk, but I have candy cane creamer if you want it,” Veronica says, making her way from the living room to the kitchen. Fiona follows her sedately, taking in the colors of Veronica's home, making note of the deep red that seems to be her favorite to decorate with and the cream of her walls. 

“Kev bought it because it was on sale and he's a ten year old boy,” Veronica continues, opening her refrigerator and pulling out the creamer. She wiggles it at Fiona, who shakes her head. 

“Just sugar works for me,” Fiona says. 

Veronica shrugs and tosses the creamer into the fridge. She turns to her counter and pulls the coffee pot from its hotplate. She sets it on a kitchen towel on the table and carefully extracts two mugs from her dish drainer. “Here,” she says, placing them on the table next to the steaming pot. 

Fiona sits down at the table, adjusts Liam in her lap, and pours herself a cup of coffee. Veronica spoons some sugar into Fiona's cup before putting some in her own. Fiona, who's still holding the coffee pot, pours Veronica's as well. 

They sit in silence. 

Fiona doesn't know what to say, and Veronica doesn't seem keen on speaking at all, just sits in her seat and stares at the patterned wallpaper. 

“So,” Fiona starts, awkward and unsure. “You go to school?” 

“Nursing school, yeah. Got a scholarship.” Veronica replies. When she doesn't elaborate, Fiona looks away and drinks her coffee.

“Do you,” Veronica clears her throat, “Do you go to school?”

Fiona shakes her head. “Nah. No time. I have four jobs and five kids.” 

It goes on like that, quietly sharing bits of their lives for an hour before Fiona has to leave for the motel. They say their goodbyes, and Veronica walks her to the door. 

“Wanna do this again tomorrow?” She asks, almost shyly, like maybe she's worried Fiona will say no. The uncertainty sounds so strange on Veronica that Fiona blinks in surprise. She might not know her very well, but it just feels wrong that this fierce woman could be so unsure. 

“Yes,” Fiona says, and is taken aback by the force of her own excitement. “I'd like that,” she continues, softer. She steps outside, Liam fussing at her side, unhappy with the autumn wind and making it known. 

Veronica smiles, really smiles, and it's the first time Fiona's seen it. It's small, but there, bright and shining. “Sounds good,” Veronica says and closes the front door behind her. 

Fiona walks away from Veronica's house, down the street to the bus stop. She turns back, because she can't help herself, and sees Veronica peeking through her living room window, watching her. She waves and Veronica waves back before disappearing entirely, curtains swishing in her wake. 

*

THREE YEARS LATER

It isn't unusual for Fiona to wake up with V in her bed. Many mornings see V laying in Fiona's bed because she feels like it, because it was cold, because Kev was working late, because they stayed up too long watching tv and drinking and V didn't feel like walking home. 

This morning though, Fiona wakes up with V in her bed, but she hadn't been there when she went to sleep the night before. 

“Hey,” Fiona says, running a finger down the length of V's arm. V smiles at her, scrunching up her nose, cute and adoring. “What's up?” 

V wraps her arms around Fiona, burring herself in blankets and warm skin. Fiona takes the opportunity to breathe in the smell of her, her shampoo and her toothpaste. She loves V, everything about her. Loves her humor and her kindness and her utter lack of bullshit and her boyfriend, even. Fiona loves Kev too, like a brother, and it took some work, but they have it figured out. V loves them both, has said so enough times, and who's to say that a soulmate is the only person you're allowed to love? 

“Kev left for the bar early,” V replies. “Got lonely.” 

Fiona hums and pulls V closer. She's got hours before she has to be up, hours to spend in bed with this beautiful woman. She kisses her, open mouthed and wanting. V laughs and it's a low and dirty sound that sends a burst of needwanthave down Fiona's spine. “Oh,” she breathes. 

“Fiona!” Debbie cries out, and Fiona thinks it might be from the bathroom, but she isn't sure. “We're out of soap!” 

“Just use the shampoo!” Fiona shouts back, pulling away from V. 

“We're out of that too!”

After a full body groan, Fiona crawls over V and out of bed. She tugs on a pair of panties she finds on the floor (they're red and orange leopard print, V's left over from the last time she spent the night, or maybe the time before that) and a shirt hanging off her dresser. 

Before she can get too far, V grabs her hand and pulls her down for another kiss. “Hurry back,” she says, tweaking one of Fiona's nipples through her shirt playfully. Fiona squeals and jumps back, delighted and laughing. 

“Fiona!” Debbie shouts again, like maybe Fiona forgot about her. 

“I will,” Fiona tells V, “Be right back.” 

Out in the hallway, Debbie's standing in a towel, looking angry and tired, long red hair falling over her shoulders like a heavy cape. “V's here,” she says. 

“Yeah,” Fiona replies, stepping around her and into the bathroom. She digs around in the cupboards, but can't find anything for her sister's shower. “I'm going to get the dish soap,” she says and Debbie hisses. 

“That's so bad for your hair!” She cries, outraged. 

“It's not.” Fiona pats her on the shoulder. “It'll make it shiny!” 

Debbie makes a noise like a strangled cat, face contorted unattractively. She starts rambling about hair follicles and roots and chemicals, but Fiona ignores her. Instead of listening, she stumbles down the stairs into the kitchen and plucks the dish soap off the back counter. Ian's at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee. He isn't really supposed to be drinking caffeine on his new meds, and he looks a little guilty. Fiona doesn't say anything, just ruffles his hair and climbs back up the stairs. 

She hands Debbie, who's still talking about chemical reactions, the soap. 

With a deep scowl, Debbie stomps into the bathroom and slams the door shut. “Your welcome!” Fiona calls after her though the door. She hears Debbie mutter, “Whatever,” before the shower starts up again.

“Hey,” Carl says, coming out of the boys' room and into the hallway. “V's here?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” Fiona answers, pushing her hands through her wild early morning hair. She shakes her head, letting her interaction with Debbie roll off her, letting go of the animosity building between her shoulder blades. 

“Good,” Carl says. “I want you guys to meet my girlfriend tonight.” 

“What girlfriend?” Fiona asks warily. 

Carl shrugs on a tshirt that used to be Lip's. “Her name's Bonnie. You'll like her. She's really hot.”

“She's smart too, but Carl doesn't care about that!” Debbie shouts through the bathroom door. Carl rolls his eyes and kicks the door. Fiona's “hey!” gets lost in Carl's varied and colorful curses. 

“I do too!” He yells. 

Fiona, almost certain that they aren't going to break her house, leaves them to their argument. When she gets back to her room, V's up and dressed again, poking around in Fiona's dresser. 

“I heard,” she says, pulling out one of Fiona's bras and tossing it to her. “Wear this.”

“Okay?” Fiona closes her door and tugs off her shirt. She puts on the bra V gave her and adjusts herself so her boobs fit into it properly. V hums in appreciation. “We still have to make breakfast,” Fiona warns her. “Sex later.” 

“But red's my favorite color on you,” V says, leaning in and running her finger just over the edge of the cup. Fiona shivers, but pulls away. She slides on a clean pair of pants and a tshirt that probably belonged to Mandy Milkovich at some point, but ended up in Fiona's closet. 

“Come on,” Fiona says, full of cheer and gumption. She pats V's ass on her way to the door. “We have the whole day ahead of us!” 

V grumbles but concedes, following her out into the hallway. She slaps Fiona's ass in retaliation and laughs when Fiona jumps. They're smiling when they make it down to the kitchen, giggling and pouring each other cups of burnt coffee. V sits at the counter and watches Fiona make her kids breakfast. 

At some point, Ian moves from the table to join V at the counter and they talk about Ian's classes and V's old study tips from before she got kicked out of the nursing program. Up stairs, Debbie and Carl are bickering, but it seems friendly enough. Liam's on the floor by the washing machine playing with a toy car. Fiona can't believe how happy she is. 

Her life isn't all that different now that she can see in color. It doesn't make her jobs any easier or fun, it doesn't pay her bills or raise her family. Her life isn't any better now that she can see how red the satin of her bra is, or how yellow her favorite chipped coffee cup is. That's not the important stuff anyway. She's still exhausted most of the time, still feels overwhelmed, seeing color doesn't change that. Seeing V though, in her house, looking at her with those heavy eyes, that makes all the difference. Her mom was right when she said it was like putting on glasses. Everything is clear with V around to bring her down to reality and keep her there. 

V makes everything seem amazing, brings meaning to the colors Fiona can see now, and keeps the world looking vibrant and high contrast, even on rainy, miserable days.

“Hey,” V says, wrapping her arms around Fiona's middle from behind. All the kid's are gone now, at work or in Debbie's case, the library with Liam in tow, and they have the house to themselves. “I think we were interrupted before?” 

Fiona smiles, turning in V's arms. She kisses her deeply, pulling their bodies flush together. “Race you up stairs?” She says, biting her lip and raising her eyebrows in challenge. 

“You're on.” V kisses her again before dashing away, leaving Fiona dazed. 

With an indignant squawk Fiona crows, “Cheater!” 

V laughs, rough and low like Fiona likes and blows her a kiss over her shoulder. Fiona doesn't waste time, uses her long legs and bolts through the living room and up the other staircase. She catches V around the waist and falls with her into their bed. The sky is blue through the window, past her yellowing curtains, and V's eyes are gold in the harsh midday sunlight. Vivid technicolor.


End file.
